


The Tragedy of Benvolio and Mercutio, rather than a Melodrama by Romeo and Juliet

by hyunniekyoongmb



Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: I wrote this for a school assignment, M/M, and tried to fit in as much homoerotic tension as I could without alarming the teacher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-24 20:27:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22143967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyunniekyoongmb/pseuds/hyunniekyoongmb
Summary: Referenced as a timeless popularized tragedy, here lies the legacy of Romeo and Juliet. Lovers, so proclaimed “fated” to die.But closer and intimate before them was Benvolio and Mercutio- the cousin and good friend to the spotlighted protagonist Romeo. Now here was an unlikely pair. Very decidedly not star-crossed, yet tragedy can fall upon anyone under the stars.
Relationships: Mercutio/Benvolio Montague
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	1. Part One

The morning sun opened on lovely Verona, yet a picturesque scene eluded the common citizens today- there had been a brawl between House Capulet and Montague.

Benvolio ignored the whispered comments about how the young sir of House Montague drawing his sword had caused the prince to intervene and absent-mindedly directed himself through the town streets, thinking of Romeo’s reveal: that he had fallen for Rosaline. Benvolio did not know the maiden personally, but had heard she was steadfast: if she had rejected his affections now, Romeo could never persuade her otherwise.

His shook away his thoughts to focus on getting to point B; Romeo’s friend Mercutio awaited him at the corner made from shops turned the other way.

“I’ve missed something, haven’t I,” Mercutio bemoaned, noticing the look on Benvolio’s face. He slumped onto the ledge and waited for him to talk, a rare silence, and so Benvolio recounted the fight.

“That was a lacking move, pacifist,” Mercutio snorted. “If I had been there, that Tybalt…”

“One could only think so now,” the other man reflected.

“Is that why you had such a glum look on your face, then?” 

“No.” Benvolio considered. “Romeo says he is in love with Lady Rosaline, but she rejects him.”

Mercutio broke into laughter, “She’d never-” He stopped, too humoured. “And, pray tell, you said?”

“Well, ‘tis a glum fate, but there’s nothing he ought to do but find another.” 

Mercutio nodded. “I should think so! Let fate knock on our door with the solution.”

Fate does, and later that very evening Benvolio and Mercutio find themselves attending the Capulet festivities with Romeo.

“Look, there’s those idiot nobles,” Mercutio pointed out, after the three slipped inside undetected.

“Hush,” Benvolio said, biting back a smile. Romeo’s friend knew of his distaste for certain noblemen- it was unprecedented for him to dislike anyone, but they had their way of making Benvolio’s usual tranquil demeanor flit away. “Do make yourself useful and get the lad to dance, will you?”

“If it were anyone else making me do something…” Mercutio grinned, and swept away to his friend’s side, leaving Benvolio with a smile. 

Quickly Mercutio reunited with him at the side of the dancing floor, but he returned with a solemn face. Before he could inquire, Mercutio said, “Benvolio, are we friends?”

Did Romeo get in his head about fate or something? Worser yet, did he have a drink? “You are my cousin’s friend,” Benvolio stated, “I never thought you considered me to be.”

“I spend an unjustified amount of time with you to not be your friend,” Mercutio said rather fairly. 

Benvolio stopped, wanting to consider a response. “So...since what hour have we been friends?” He’d prefer to hear the other man’s point of view first. He still didn’t know why he had asked either way.

“Well, at least the hour you took me home after a feast of the Montague’s, punch drunk.” Mercutio shifted uncomfortably. “You’re an awful person to be beside at a feast. I ought to find some company for a measure.” 

He made to move, and Benvolio was left without his too-loud company- or friend. He was curious, since when had the relationship betwixt them fallen under the house of friendship? Or maybe. He didn’t like this particular thought, but it could be that, _Maybe I’m just dense._

But the evening drew on, and he became more so curious. Drinks were nursed, Romeo long vanished between the adagio and andante of Capulet’s favourite song, and loneliness brought itself in new forms. Until-

“Must I always carry you home whilst you are inebriated.” Benvolio’s voice was flat, not expecting an answer, but Mercutio surpassed his expectations and provided one- Romeo had disappeared, it seemed. Irresponsible chap.

It was quiet for a stretch of time after that, so Benvolio got to berate his drunk company:

“Take better care of yourself next time.”

“I’m never doing this again, I swear.”

“Did you walk your company home firstly?”

Benvolio dragged his friend past several houses, letting his thoughts go somewhere else while he carried Romeo’s friend- “Friend.”

Mercutio looked up, drunk still but evidently looking well enough, “You take this entire matter entirely too seriously.”

Benvolio smiled, “That is why a friend like you is needed.” 

Mercutio later explained- “Friends just are people who like to spend time with each other, without a real reason.”


	2. Part Two

“Does thy mother know how often foul words fall upon thy tongue?”

They were sitting just outside the gates of Montague’s manor, leaning on the stone wall, sitting a foot asunder from each other. The late evening was bleeding into the nighttime now, streaks of violet set against a dusty carrot coloured sky. They had left after Romeo had set away.

The carefree Mercutio waved his hand to dismiss Benvolio’s concerns. 

“The woman with the servant, Peter? You can be less than a gentleman sometimes.”

“If you think so, I’ll apologize if I receive the chance.”

Benvolio’s arms slackened, “You’ve been less obstinate lately.” 

“You think me a stubborn person?”

“No!” Benvolio said quickly.

“Romeo has not changed at all, has he?” 

“My cousin? I should think not.”

“Desperate for Rosaline, how long, now?”

“Not too long, but longer than he’s letting on.”

“Clever Benvolio, by the book Benvolio, have you not figured he has moveth on?”

“Nay, I would not entertain the unrealistic thought of my cousin following my counsel.”

Benvolio looked straight ahead. Down in the street, shops were closing and families were retreating inside. At times like these, Verona looked idyllic. 

He looked at Mercutio. “Do you believe he’ll ever be in real love?” 

“Not right now,” Mercutio replied. “Right now the only thing from a woman or man Romeo could possibly need is-”

“Do not do wrong by your mother again,” sighed Benvolio. 

“Is simple infatuation to make yourself pathetic for?” Mercutio argued.

“I suppose, no, but.. if they did know each other?”

“How long?”

“As long as us, and very close.” 

“Then,” Mercutio slumped in defeat. “Then, maybe love.”

He did not expect this response. Not from his cynical, flamboyant friend who made his opinions on love, lust, and everything in between well known. As usual, Benvolio found himself the happy medium between his two extremist companions. “If you were to ask my opinion… I think love occurs underneath the stars, but we aren’t governed by them.”

Mercutio nodded vehemently. “We aren’t.”

Was it the same in the case of tragedy?


	3. Part Three

“By my head, here come the Capulets.”

In an anonymous’ house on the street, Benvolio held Mercutio up. The latter of the two protested: “I do ask for some dignity, please!”

Romeo and the others were absent, in the square still, talking of Mercutio… or Tybalt… It didn’t matter. The doctor was here, the only person Benvolio needed.

“Is it fair? Is it fair to have one person die- oh, but you’ll live- with the other still standing, surely the worser man of the two?”

“But Benvolio,” Mercutio coughed, but smirking, “… since when do you, ever do-good, pass judgement on others?”

“I, I- I don’t know.” Benvolio frantically shifted as the surgeon motioned to, in assay to view the stab wound on his friend. It was much too bloody, too red- too much- how could anyone possibly, possibly survive-? But he must.

“But you must,” he muttered.

“Repeat that?” Mercutio asked, grimacing.

“Survive, oh Mercutio-”

“Maybe today you ask too much of me.”

“You have always asked too much of me, and though I am of lower status, you ought to requite me- let those stars of Romeo’s allow you to live and give back.”

“Prayers, now? Ah, I do meet my end.” Mercutio straightened up again, then dismissed the doctor.

“Mercutio-!” Benvolio protested, then turning to the doctor, panicking: “Good sir, come back!”

“He has left by now. Benvolio, I have found, Friend, that doctors dislike being around suffering they cannot help. Must make such a dreary job.” He settled, and Benvolio noticed that he did not seem weak from his injury, despite the dying. He had too much to say. As always. “I’m lucky to be well-off. My princely kin will be distressed, I imagine, though what about you? You’re right in front of me and I must admit I’m curious. What say you? We were close. Very close. Romeo is my friend, but you and I were close. That’s more. Benvolio, I must admit I like the thought of you and Romeo being tormented for a short while! So that even though I died from a foolish injury you both will still think of me as brave and not impulsive.”

“Please allow me a word.” Benvolio felt selfish, selfish, to take one of the remaining words Mercutio had left away from him, but he felt that he would die, too, if he did not… “Romeo and I both have always thought of you as brave and loyal. You needn’t worry.”

“And today?” Mercutio asked. Today, you thought of me as…?

“Nothing less. More.”

_I want to be more for you._ “Then I am glad,” Mercutio said, rather cheerily, “that it would be a battle injury that gets me! Oh, wounded valiantly for a fight. I suppose… I have mentioned that is how I have wanted to go…”

He goes.

The prince’s cousin was dead.

Suddenly it was too much- this cold, dead house was too much for one person- one, one, and only one- Benvolio wheezed, and threw open the doors, crying: “Brave Mercutio’s dead!”

Not seven days later would Benvolio realize that Mercutio had not died for the battle, but for love. This was after his cousin’s passing. The Capulet girl’s passing.

_We didn’t even know, Mercutio,_ thought Benvolio. _Juliet, rather than Rosaline- irony makes us all fools. Love, huh? The very thing you did not quite believe in._

He was either rather early or running late. But it was just time he couldn’t share with his familiars anymore. If he… Mercutio... had seen how it had happened, would he had believed love had existed from the start? After all, could anything could drive someone as mad or miserable as love could- could any other force make such a tragedy?


End file.
